


The Right Time

by hvanwoong



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Reunions, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hvanwoong/pseuds/hvanwoong
Summary: Geonhak had his life planned out: work, marriage, a picket fence. When tragedy strikes and Geonhak finds himself the sole parent to his best friend’s son, those plans fade away and within months he is so overwhelmed that it is hard to breathe.Everything changes when one day he drops off his godson at day-care and finds himself face to face with the childhood friend that he hasn’t seen for ten years, the brash and buoyant Lee Seoho.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho
Comments: 20
Kudos: 116





	The Right Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caeruluslapis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caeruluslapis/gifts).



> Hello all <3 This one is a special giftie I really hope you love it ^0^ I’ve been working on this for a little while to try to get it just how I’d like it. I want to credit as always the awesome single parent fics that I’ve read over the years which continue to inspire me, most of all Children’s Motrin (taetertot) which really taught me everything about the trope and introduced me to this kind of accidental-parent concept. This work isn’t reinventing the wheel, and it does rely on a lot of classic tropes, so I hope that I can just add my own little piece of joy to the concept too <3 I hope that you enjoy <3
> 
> CW // past character death, references to grief

The morning starts with chaos, something that has become too familiar in the once organised life of Kim Geonhak. There was a time, five months ago, when his routine comprised a morning alarm at 6:30, a healthy cooked breakfast with protein and vitamins, a half-hour commute into the inner-city on the metro, and then nine hours of beautifully familiar accountancy before the journey home and a movie along with a box-meal, then bed. It was simple, it was easy, it was the sort of life promised to a man in his mid-twenties.

The Kim Geonhak of then saw his future coming together in five years’ time. He would meet a partner. They would have a child. They’d move into a bigger apartment or even a house. He would get a promotion and they would be able to afford a nice car and maybe tuition at a private school for their kid. It was all planned out.

‘Hey, hey, it’s okay,’ murmurs Geonhak as he lifts the boy higher up on his hip, moving quickly around the small apartment. Hyuntae is crying, the sort of crying that reminds Geonhak of the colic his godson had when he was a baby. Back then, he could hold the baby back out to his father and return to his desk with a laugh of, ‘ _that’s dad’s problem now!’_. Now, there is no one but himself to search for a solution, a solution for the tears of his best friend’s son. He leans over, digging around down the side of the couch cushions, and manages to free the pointy end of Hyuntae’s plush carrot. ‘Here,’ he tugs it all the way out and passes it into his godson’s small, pudgy hands. ‘Here’s Geunie! It was just a dream, Taetae, just a dream.’

He knows that he should be working harder to comfort him. Hyuntae woke from a nightmare, the sort that no little one should be having. Guilt floods his gut. But he is going to be late and if his boss catches him out one more time, he’ll be looking at a pink slip, and the support from the government combined with his own single-person salary is not even to keep them safe. Hyuntae’s father’s money won’t see the light of day until the boy turns nineteen.

So he rushes around, the crying ringing in his ears, and tries not to start on his own waterworks.

It is moments like this when he wonders what on earth he was thinking, taking this on.

It is mornings like this when he remembers his friend, his colleague, Jungmo, and what it was like when he could pass his godson back and watch his dad play peek-a-boo with him or sing lullabies in his ear.

It is mornings like this that make him feel so alone that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do this.

‘Taetae, you want a yoghurt?’

Hyuntae shakes his head, burying his face into Geonhak’s shoulder.

‘You need to have brekky, Taetae. I can mix in some blueberries for you. You like blueberries, don’t you?’

He wishes that Hyuntae would answer. He wishes that he would tell him what is wrong like other kids of his age do, even if it came in the form of tantrums. But Hyuntae doesn’t talk anymore. The child therapist that he’d taken him to see had said that he shouldn’t worry too much, that he might just be a late talker. Geonhak had explained that before, Hyuntae had been very vocal. He’d known words. He’d known how to call for his dad, and how to string together simple words. But now? Nothing. She’d asked if he still played with other kids, if he laughed and cried and got excited like the others? Geonhak told her that he is the loudest kid at day-care.

He just doesn’t _talk_.

Ever.

And Geonhak knows that it is because of the loss of his father. Hyuntae is too young to understand why his dad is gone, but too old not to remember his presence in his life. That’s something that Geonhak will have to live with for a very long time. It’s why, to Hyuntae, he’ll always be godfather, not dad. Because Hyuntae had a dad, a dad that he remembers even if he never vocalises it. That’s something that will never, ever go away.

‘Please eat something, Taetae,’ he whispers, and he wonders whether his godson will be able to hear the desperation in his voice.

He hopes not.

Desperate.

It is a word that he never entertained before Jungmo’s accident, and now he thinks about it every day. Just like he thinks about cars crashing into the barriers on bridges and how Jungmo was born to be a father, how he leant into it like it was made for him, how he always knew what to do even though he was not much older than Geonhak when Hyuntae was born, and even though he too had never expected to be a single father. Just like he thinks about how it is to have a best friend, someone that he thought would be at his side for life, only to lose him five decades too early.

By the time that they leave the apartment, Hyuntae has stopped crying. He is sniffling, clutching his carrot plush against his chest as if it is his only lifeline, and is at least slightly fed.

They are now running half an hour late.

Geonhak fumbles with the buckles of his car seat when he reaches the day-care parking lot, wondering whether they really need to make them so complicated, and then hoists Hyuntae back onto his hip, kissing his forehead. ‘You want to go see your friends, Taetae?’

He is so used to no response that it doesn’t affect him. He just keeps talking and talking, always talking, because the child therapist said that was important.

The day-care is Geonhak’s lifeline, his very own grown-up version of a carrot plush. The staff are kind, and they became even kinder once they found out about Hyuntae’s story, and they made enough exceptions for him that Geonhak never had to worry about running late home from work, or changing his schedule suddenly, or breaking down in a fit of anxiety in their presence every once in a while. ‘ _What an amazing thing you’re doing,_ ’ they say to him, ‘ _there aren’t many people who would have done this for their friend._ ’

‘Hey, hey Keonhee,’ he says, as soon as he walks through the doors.

‘Hello Hyuntae!’ Keonhee beams, ignoring him completely and reaching out to ruffle the kid’s hair instead. Hyuntae pulls away, squishing closer against Geonhak’s side.

‘I’m sorry,’ mumbles Geonhak, ‘he had a nightmare last night.’

‘Oh poor baby!’ Keonhee’s face is animated as ever. When they first met, Geonhak thought that it was a feature of his working with children, but after a while he came to realise that such enthusiasm is simply Keonhee’s natural state. He zooms around the day-care like lightning, beams and laughs and smiles like there is no other care in the world. More than once, Geonhak has found himself envious of him.

‘Is Hwanwoong in, today?’ he asks, rocking Hyuntae gently. Hwanwoong is just about Hyuntae’s favourite person in the entire world, and the only person that Geonhak truly trusts with him when he is upset.

However, Keonhee shakes his head with a sympathetic expression. ‘He’s just gone off sick for a few days. Didn’t he message you?’

‘Oh, oh yeah,’ Geonhak sighs. Hwanwoong _had_ told him that a few days earlier, but apparently the small matter has been lost in amongst everything else that crashes around his brain at any given moment these days. ‘Who’s in?’

‘Well, we’re suffering a bit. One of the other boys got stomach flu and then everyone got stomach flu,’ he pulls a face, like he could never be taken down by something so weak as a virus, ‘ _but_ the local agency sent us a new kid today. A minder, I mean,’ he adds. Keonhee calls everyone kid, regardless of their age. ‘He’s a bit… inexperienced, but I think _you_ might like him, Hyuntae.’

Hyuntae doesn’t seem to think so. He has started to cry again. It is because he knows that Geonhak is about to leave.

Keonhee opens the door behind the counter, leaning into the playroom, and yells out ‘ _Seoho_!’

The name stirs something in Geonhak’s memory and he looks up. There is a muffled crash, like something has toppled over, a lot of laugher, and then a bright face appears in the doorway. The brightest face. Possibly the brightest face that Geonhak has ever seen. How could someone look that happy? It’s not difficult for him to answer, though, because he remembers this smile, the heart shaped lips and even white teeth, the eyes that sparkle with black glitter when he laughs.

‘Sorry, Keonhee, the kids were building a tower on me!’ says Seoho, a smile painted across his features. There is actual paint on his face too, a blue blob just above his eyebrow, but it’s merely a mild splash of colour compared to his hair. It is bright orange, like fire, feathery and fluffy in his playful eyes. ‘Woah,’ he says, beaming when he spots Geonhak, ‘is that you, Geonhak?’

Keonhee, who was just about to introduce them, stares.

‘Lee Seoho?’ Geonhak stares too. The memories rush back in. A summer spent at a mountain camp, close to a lake, the two of them sneaking off to create mischief away from the other kids; sitting at the back of class and whispering while the teacher tried to talk; memories of the day Seoho told him that his parents were moving them to another city, when Geonhak had gone home and cried for a day. Memories of faded friendship, the way that kids move on, giving in to distance.

Seoho hasn’t changed, apart from aging eleven years. The features are all the same, just characterised by adult sharpness now, and that bright smile is so recognisable. Geonhak thinks he would have recognised Seoho even if they were one hundred years old. All thoughts of racing to work are lost in the realisation that his childhood best friend is standing in front of him, reaching out to take the godson that has become his child, and it’s so surreal that everything feels heady.

‘I – wow,’ Seoho stares at him. ‘This is wild!’

Geonhak opens his mouth, then closes it. What is there to say?

Luckily, Keonhee rescues him from having to find words. ‘You two know each other?’

‘We knew each other when we were kids,’ says Seoho, and he looks happier than Geonhak. ‘You’re – you’re a dad now?’

Geonhak shifts Hyuntae’s weight on his hip and then nods. ‘Yes. Yeah. Kind of. Yes. When did you come back to Seoul?’

‘College,’ whispers Seoho.

‘Th-this is Hyuntae,’ Geonhak reminds himself of why he is here.

‘Hello Hyuntae,’ smiles Seoho, and he tilts his head to the side. ‘How are you today?’

‘He doesn’t - ’ Geonhak starts, but Hyuntae has moved in his arms. He’s reaching one small hand out, stretching towards Seoho’s hair.

‘Oh, do you like it?’ he coos, and then turns to Geonhak again, ‘can I?’

‘Sure,’ he says in astonishment, letting him lift Hyuntae straight in to his arms. He glances over at Keonhee, who looks just as surprised. This can’t be Hyuntae. Not _Hyuntae_. Not his Hyuntae who is usually so clingy in the mornings now that Keonhee or Hwanwoong has to prise him from his arms.

Seoho holds him as Geonhak had, slotting him against his waist. ‘Who’s this?’ he asks, poking Geunie.

‘That’s Geunie. The carrot,’ he supplies, because he knows Hyuntae won’t answer.

Hyuntae has now caught several strands of Seoho’s hair between his fingers and is tugging on them gently. ‘Hey, Taetae, don’t,’ says Geonhak, finding his _dad-voice_. It’s something he’s been working on. He tries to remember how Jungmo did it, the sharp edge without sounding harsh. ‘You don’t touch people without their permission, and you don’t pull hair!’

‘It’s okay,’ grins Seoho, ‘he’s so cute. He can play if he wants.’

‘Ah – ah!’ interrupts Keonhee, tone stern. ‘If it’s a guardian’s rules, that’s final, remember?’

Seoho’s face falls. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I - ’

‘It’s cool,’ Geonhak says quickly. His mind is still moving so fast that it’s difficult to focus. ‘I just didn’t want him to hurt you.’

To his relief, the smile returns. ‘He’s the _cutest_!’

‘I have to get to work,’ sighs Geonhak, ‘I’m late, so I’ll probably have to stay on. Do you think you could keep him an hour late?’

‘Of course,’ nods Keonhee, ‘you can help me lock up, can’t you Taetae?’

Hyuntae doesn’t even look at him, utterly fixated on Seoho’s orange hair.

‘I told you he’d like him,’ says Keonhee. ‘Say goodbye to uncle Hak, Hyuntae!’

Finally, Hyuntae turns in Seoho’s arms, dark eyes wide and rapidly saddening.

‘I’ll see you later, Taetae,’ says Geonhak, pain ripping through his chest as it always does. He hates leaving him here. He hates that Hyuntae lost his own dad and now he has to lose his guardian too, every day. He hates that his godson won’t spend these vital years safe and happy in the arms of his parents like so many other kids – that he’ll have to spend every day with strangers, vying for attention, relying on the couple of hours that Geonhak is home every night to find some semblance of security. He leans forward, kissing his head and stroking a hand through his hair.

‘You want to take him?’ asks Seoho kindly, very close to him.

‘No, no,’ Geonhak pulls away. ‘He won’t want to let go.’ _I won’t want to let go_.

‘Say bye-bye, Hyuntae?’ suggests Seoho.

Geonhak just smiles sadly, knowing that he won’t get a goodbye. ‘Love you,’ he says, trying not to fall apart as his kid gives him a sad little wave.

‘See you later, Geonhak,’ says Keonhee.

‘Yeah, see you,’ he turns around.

‘Bye, Geonhak.’ Seoho’s voice. ‘Or should I say Mr Kim, now?’ His voice is charming, fluid, slow and measured over each syllable like he thinks through them carefully. It’s like he’s so used to talking to children that he doesn’t alter his tone for adults.

‘Geonhak’s good,’ he laughs, managing a smile and a half-wave when he turns back. Even that takes an effort. Not like Seoho. The smile on his face seems to be the most effortless thing in the world.

~

‘I’m so sorry!’ says Geonhak as he stumbles out of his car. He’s more than an hour and a half late. A safe driver, he’d clenched his hands on the steering wheel with impatience as he crawled his way across town. The day at work had been draining; a tirade from his boss followed by trouble with three difficult accounts. He’d had no time for a lunch break.

Out the front of the day-care, evening light has started to bring its shade and Keonhee is helping Hyuntae totter around, holding his hands, as he kicks a foam football back across the courtyard to Seoho. It makes Geonhak pause. Usually, only Keonhee stays late. Even Hwanwoong disappears at the very moment his shift ends, lest he be late for his evening dance classes. Seoho, though, is still grinning, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. When he looks up from under the eaves of the building and sees Geonhak, he gives him a bright wave.

‘I’m sorry!’ Geonhak repeats.

‘It’s okay,’ beams Seoho as Hyuntae starts to run on small, unstable legs over to him, the football forgotten. ‘We had great fun!’

‘Is everything okay?’ asks Keonhee.

Geonhak picks up Hyuntae and nods. ‘Yes, yes, just busy.’ His eyes are drooping with tiredness, and a throbbing headache is pulsating at the base of his skull. Dehydration leaves his mouth dry and sandpaper-like. ‘I need to get us to the store before we go home, so I can get something for Hyuntae’s dinner.’ He tweaks his nose as he says it.

‘No need, he’s fed already,’ says Keonhee.

Geonhak sighs in relief and closes his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

‘Concentrate on making something for yourself, please,’ presses Keonhee, ‘I’m worried about you. You can’t look after him if you’re not looking after yourself.’

He nods and exhales slowly. ‘I know. Honestly, I need a day off.’

He doesn’t just mean a day off from work. The day that he signed the adoption papers, he hadn’t thought about what it really meant to be parent. He hadn’t considered the reality, that it meant never having a day off ever again. There’s no time to catch up on sleep when he’s woken by a toddler at dawn at the weekends. There’s no time to catch up on meals when he’s always, always cooking for someone else first. There’s no time for a life. Geonhak has always been good with kids, but kids that he could return at the end of the day to their parents.

Time is starting to tell him that he’s way, way out of his depth.

Seoho skips over. ‘How was work?’

‘Tiring,’ he sighs, ‘but I guess at least it’s adult company.’

‘We should go out some time to catch up!’ suggest Seoho, like he has been waiting for an opportunity to bring this up. ‘I can’t believe fate brought us back together like this. I want to know everything!’

Hyuntae huffs and rests his cheek down on Geonhak’s shoulder, sleepy. ‘Sure,’ nods Geonhak, a little flare of excitement at the thought of going out with another grown-up. Besides, he longs to hear Seoho’s stories, longs to hear how he ended up back here after so much time. ‘I’ll have to bring this one,’ he nods, resting his chin gently on Hyuntae’s head.

‘Good!’ beams Seoho. ‘We can go somewhere child-friendly! I’m sure there’s a restaurant nearby.’

Geonhak makes a noise of uncertainty. ‘He’s pretty picky with food. Could we go to the park?’

With the date set for two days’ time, Geonhak thanks Keonhee and Seoho profusely once again before buckling Hyuntae back into his car-seat, ready to return to the quiet apartment. The whole ride home, the kid is silent, head rested to the side as he sleeps post-meal, and Geonhak is able to concentrate on his own mind for a while instead of focussing on filling every moment with speech. He scans through the headlines of the day, from Hwanwoong’s continued sickness to the reappearance of Seoho to the pile of paperwork on the backseat that he’s had to bring home from work.

His eyes flicker to the radio, and he remembers when he used to play music so loud in the car. He remembers, too, when he used to watch movies on the surround-sound system late at night, and when he used to go out running whenever he felt like it. Now, his muscles are always tingling with disuse. Pushing those thoughts away, he thinks instead about Seoho. Not for the first time today, he thinks about the day Seoho told him he was leaving. They were thirteen. They were supposed to go through high school together. Then Seoho told him that his parents had been placed on the south coast for work.

Geonhak blinks and thinks about the pain when his young heart had broken.

He also thinks about the moment that he realised Seoho was his very first crush, during a school recess, and then he clears his throat to clear his mind. That was a very, very long time ago. They were kids.

The parking lot under his apartment building is dark, the motion sensor lamps taking a moment to sputter into life, but he’s relieved to find his space empty. More than once, he’s got home to find someone else’s car there. Balancing the sleeping Hyuntae on one arm, he heads to the elevator, and then rests his forehead against the cold metal as he sees the Out of Order sign. There can be no putting the boy down, so he shuffles to the stairs and starts an ascent that makes the front of his thighs burn in protest. Hyuntae has gotten heavier, recently. Kids grow so fast.

At the apartment door, he fiddles with the keycode, and then lets out a sigh of relief. Even in darkness, the apartment is a safe place. The stress of the day drips off his skin and he fumbles for the light with his elbow, bringing a yellow-white glow to the space.

It’s a confused room, the organised chaos of a young professional’s apartment that has been suddenly taken over by a child. The furnishings are sleek, black couch and white wall fitting supporting the TV. An expensive rug spreads grey beneath the coffee table. But there is a trail of red and yellow trucks leading under the couch and Hyuntae’s old finger-paintings from day-care are tacked to the wall. Geonhak likes to think of them as abstract art.

He lays Hyuntae down on the couch with gentle arms, watching as he shuffles and closes his chubby fingers on a pillow, before he turns to the kitchen to follow Keonhee’s instructions. Most of the kitchen facilities are rarely used now – ashamed though he is, Geonhak tends to resort to the microwave or the grill for the sake of efficiency. Rubbing his tired eyes, he opens the refrigerator and peers inside. There’s little there; some canned drinks, some sauces with long life, some kimchi, but a lack of anything fresh. In the past, he could nip down to the corner shop for dinner.

Now, Hyuntae is sleeping too soundly to wake him, and he would never leave him even for a minute. The one thing that his friend left in the world, the one most precious thing that Jungmo left behind when he passed on, is in Geonhak’s care forever now. He pulls out some leftovers, black bean noodles, and sets them down on the countertop. There isn’t a seat here, but he leans his elbows down and watches Hyuntae sleep while he eats. For quite a while, Geonhak hasn’t thought about the taste of food; it is a means to an end, a provider only of fuel to keep him operating.

He ought to carry Hyuntae to bed and settle him down at least for a couple of hours, to give him time to get through his stack of paperwork, but he can’t even find the energy to cross back to the couch. Instead, he cracks open a can of a sugary grape drink, in the hopes that the sugar will give him a boost. There are too many hours left in the day for him to be thinking about collapsing into bed yet.

~

Geonhak watches as his godson plays with the ducks. He throws down handfuls of seed and peas, laughing happily when the ducks from the narrow rivulet shuffle up in response. Geonhak longs to close his eyes and listen to the sound, the closest he gets to hearing Hyuntae talk, but he keeps his gaze firmly on him, worried by the nearby water. He agreed to meet Seoho here so they could walk up to the playpark together, but Seoho is five minutes late. It makes Geonhak flit his eyes around, up and down the path, waiting for his past to catch up with him.

When Seoho appears, he’s singing along out-loud to something playing on his big, red headphones. They cup over his ears, giving him the impression of very wide head from a distance, but as he spots Geonhak he grins and waves, pulling them down around his neck. ‘Geonhak! Hey!’

Hyuntae looks up and starts to run over to him on wobbly legs. Seoho has scooped him up onto his hip before he even reaches the bench. ‘Hey,’ Geonhak smiles. The familiar dull headache is present behind his eyes, as he had to stay up very late last night catching up on some work, but he feels good to be out in the fresh air, and even better to be meeting his old friend. ‘How are you?’

‘Good, good,’ nods Geonhak, ‘you?’

‘Tired,’ he yawns theatrically. ‘I was up late binge-watching this new series. You should definitely watch it.’

‘Give me your recs,’ laughs Geonhak, even though he knows he’ll have no time to watch anything. ‘I was up late too, getting some work done.’

‘And how are _you_ , Taetae?’ Seoho smiles.

By way of an answer, Hyuntae just beams, showing off his full set of baby teeth, of which he is very proud.

‘Good, good,’ nods Seoho. ‘Shall we go to the park?’ Hyuntae nods rapidly, and Seoho slides him down to the floor before taking his hand. It all seems so natural to him. As they start to walk, Seoho turns to Geonhak and raises an eyebrow. ‘So where are you working now?’

‘I’m an accountant,’ says Geonhak, ‘exciting, I know.’

‘Oh there’s nothing wrong with accounting,’ he grins, ‘a noble profession!’

‘So my parents say. I’m hoping to get a promotion by the end of the year to a management position, that’ll take a lot of weight off Hyuntae and I, having a bit more money coming in. Do you know how expensive childcare is?’ he adds, and then he rolls his eyes, realising what a silly thing it was to say. ‘Right, yeah, of course you know.’

Seoho laughs. ‘Could your parents look after Hyuntae some days?’ he asks. ‘Not that _I_ want to stop seeing him!’

Geonhak shakes his head. ‘No, no, they moved out of the city a couple of years ago to help their health. I can’t have them travelling in and out all the time.’

‘So it’s just you?’ asks Seoho, and Geonhak can tell that he wants to ask questions without prying.

‘Just me,’ he nods, ‘yeah.’

‘Keonhee called you Uncle Hak.’

Geonhak looks down to check that Hyuntae is well and truly distracted – the way only kids can be – by the very earth beneath him. ‘Hyuntae is my best friend’s son,’ he says, ‘my godson.’

‘So… how did you become dad?’

At that moment, Hyuntae pulls his hand free to run ahead down the pedestrianised path, excited by a pack of pigeons. Geonhak is relieved. The older the boy gets, the more conscious he is of the fact that he’s always listening, that he understands what is said around him. ‘Hyuntae’s father died, a few months ago,’ he says, and the words come out measured and calm. It has been weeks since he last let the subject tear him apart. He doesn’t have time to fall apart, now that he has a kid.

‘Oh I’m so sorry,’ whispers Seoho, looking ahead at the boy in his blue dungarees and puffy jacket. ‘Was it sudden?’

‘As sudden as it’s possible to be. He was the only person Hyuntae had in the world, and now I am.’

‘You adopted?’

‘Of course. I didn’t even have to think about it. It was what Jungmo would have wanted.’

‘His parents…?’

‘Not around. He was doing it all by himself. I have to… I have to prove to Tae that there’s someone who’ll always be there. I don’t even know how much this is all going to affect him. You know he doesn’t talk?’

Seoho takes Hyuntae’s hand again when they catch up, and steers him towards a caravan selling coffee. ‘I’m sure he’ll start again soon,’ he says. ‘He might just be learning how to relate to a new world.’ Seoho buys the coffees, and a cup of chocolate milk for Hyuntae.

Geonhak rubs his eyes and takes a long drink of searing-hot coffee. It burns all the way down his throat. ‘What about you?’ he asks, eager to move the conversation on from himself before he has a public breakdown about his life. ‘You said you came back to Seoul for college?’

‘Yep, yeah, studied Sports Science. Once I graduated though, I sort of realised that all I ever really wanted was to work with kids. Big family, you know?’

‘I remember.’

‘So I did a course and joined an agency, that’s how I ended up at Keonhee’s place this week. _But_ after my first couple of days, Keonhee has said he thinks he could take me on for a permanent basis! Can you believe that? So long as I can show up on time every day – and I’m not good at that – I reckon I could be onto a good thing! I love the place. The kids are amazing. Hyuntae is the best. We’re not supposed to have favourites but he’s my favourite.’

Geonhak smiles. ‘Thank you.’

‘He’s so smart. And sociable! You shouldn’t worry about him. He plays with all the other kids. But I was playing this matching game with him yesterday and he was super fast. Figured out where the game was going before I even told him. You’re gonna have a really, really clever kid, Geonhak.’

‘Well his dad was really smart, too.’

‘And his uncle,’ grins Seoho, nudging his shoulder. ‘I remember when they used to take you away from our class when we were little, because they wanted you to sit in with the older kids for their math class.’

When they reach the play-park, they spot one of Hyuntae’s friends from day-care with his mom, who raises her eyebrows for a second when she sees them together and then gives Geonhak a very _knowing_ smile, like she knows something he doesn’t. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll watch Hyuntae!’ she tells them brightly.

Surprised, Geonhak smiles. ‘Thanks, Jiho.’

‘No problem,’ she says, and then he’s _sure_ that she winks at him but he tries not to think about it.

They sit down on one of the wooden benches and sip their drinks for a moment before Geonhak goes on. ‘How was it? High school for you?’

‘Decent. It took me a while to adjust, being the new kid, but I made some close friends. Then I moved back to Seoul and had to make new friends _again_ at college. But I’m a chameleon.’

‘I remember that,’ he nods. Seoho had always been extraordinarily adaptable. He got on with everyone, moved between friendship groups like it was so easy. Geonhak had been the opposite, drifting through school with one or two close friends but struggling to connect with other people. He was shy. He takes a deep breath, telling himself that this is a normal question to ask a friend that he hasn’t seen for a very long time, and asks, ‘so what’s life looking like now? Living with anyone?’

‘Only my roommate,’ he says, ‘Dongju. No partner, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘I wasn’t - ’ he pauses, ‘yes, I was asking. You’ll have to forgive me. Now that I have a kid I have to live vicariously through everyone else. No time for dating when you’re a single dad.’

Seoho meets his eyes. Seoho has pretty eyes; Geonhak notices that there’s a thin line of dark shadow at the outer corners, and it intrigues him that Seoho takes the time to do that. ‘Well, I promise no one else is having much fun either. It gets harder, after college. Everyone’s so busy with work and building a career and you stop seeing anyone for fun, it’s more like… always planning for the future. My parents are already on my back about finding someone to settle down with!’

They both pause to cheer when Hyuntae slides down the yellow chute closest to their bench. Geonhak notices that Jiho is watching them.

‘How does it feel, being like a dad?’ asks Seoho.

‘Sometimes it’s the best feeling in the world, like when I watch Hyuntae make a new friend. And sometimes I feel like I’m drowning.’ The words slip out before he can even think about them, and instantly he feels guilty for speaking such a thing aloud. ‘Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.’

Seoho meets his gaze again and reaches out to squeeze his hand. ‘You’re doing great. That kid is great.’

Geonhak drains his coffee and runs his free hand through his hair. ‘I don’t even know what to call him. He’s my godson, but he’s also my son, now.’

‘Everything is still new, you’ll figure it all out over time,’ Seoho says gently.

‘When people call me his dad, I feel so guilty. Because he already has a dad. A great one. I can’t take his place. I’ll never take his place.’

‘Kids can have more than one dad, Geonhak.’

Geonhak kneads his forehead. A part of him knows that it’s inappropriate to overshare like this with someone that he hasn’t seen for so many years, but the familiarity between them makes it feel like it was only yesterday that they were best friends, closest confidants. And Seoho has an open, welcoming aura that invites sharing. ‘I’m scared that he’s going to forget Jungmo.’

Seoho glances over at the playground. ‘He’s very young, Geonhak,’ he says softly, ‘it’s true that perhaps over time, he won’t remember him so well. That’s something you’re going to have to come to terms with. If he decides that he wants you to be his dad, then you have to accept that. It’s not replacing your best friend. It’s being whatever his son needs you to be.’

‘I know,’ he whispers. Even having said the words out loud, he feels like two tonnes of weight have been lifted from his shoulders. There has been no one that he could share this with. There has been no one that he can share any truths with, since the day of the car-crash, because he lost his best friend. He lost his friend and he didn’t even have time to grieve.

‘You’re so strong, Geonhak! I think it’s not a coincidence that our paths crossed again.’

‘Maybe not,’ he nods, and the thought of some kind of divine intervention, that someone is watching over him from somewhere, is so comforting that he has to look away.

~

The first time that Seoho is late, Hyuntae looks around with confusion. For the last week, Seoho has been there to greet him at the front doors, allowing Geonhak to run straight back to the car and get to work on time. Today, Keonhee just shrugs, and Geonhak wishes that his heart didn’t sink. He’s not too worried about his godson, who launches himself at a recuperated Hwanwoong and is quickly distracted, but he is worried about Seoho. He remembers what he said about his problems with punctuality, and he knows that Keonhee won’t like that sort of thing. Geonhak needs Seoho to impress him, so that he can stay.

With no excuse to hang around, Geonhak gives a dejected wave to Hyuntae before returning to the car.

At work, he slides to his desk with his head down. There’s so much that he needs to do. Before midday, he has a meeting with one of his clients, and the in-tray beside his computer is overflowing. He’s halfway through rifling in his bag before he realises that he has left some of his work on his nightstand at home. Out loud, he says a silly curse, a child’s phrase; actual swears have faded far into the distant folds of his long-term memory. Everything that he says aloud now is something that would be suitable for Hyuntae’s delicate ears.

‘Is everything okay?’ Youngjo wheels his chair from the next desk over.

Geonhak looks up at his friend and nods. ‘Yeah, fine. I left some of my files at home.’

‘Do you need me to take over one of your accounts for you, Geonhak?’ he asks seriously. This is the kind of thing that Youngjo has been asking for months, ever since the new trainee took over Jungmo’s desk opposite, and since Geonhak’s work started to pile up with crushing weight. Youngjo looks young and fresh, with soft hair that falls straight over his forehead; nothing ever seems to faze him, even though Geonhak knows that he has two kids of his own and responsibilities for days.

‘No, no,’ he shakes his head.

‘You’ve got dark circles, Geonhak!’

‘I can’t give up one of my accounts,’ he whispers. ‘The boss will think I can’t cope and then I have no chance of a promotion. And I need that promotion. I want to be able to get Hyuntae the best childcare and education and everything he wants and needs while he’s growing up.’

Youngjo nods. ‘I understand, trust me I understand, but you need to be taking care of yourself too.’

Aware that this is the second time that he has been told this recently, Geonhak sighs. ‘I know.’

‘Why don’t you give Hyuntae to us for a night so you can have a day off, at least?’

‘You guys are so busy… I don’t want - ’

‘You need to accept help when people are offering it, Geonhak.’

‘Right. Yes. Please.’ The words come out one by one. Geonhak wasn’t raised to accept help from others. His parents, especially his father, have always been stoic, hard-working, unaffected by any of the waves that rocked their boat. ‘Yes please.’

This answer seems to please Youngjo, who smiles and claps a hand down on his shoulder. ‘Good. How’s Friday? We can drop him back on Saturday morning. You can cook yourself a dinner, have some wine, watch a movie.’

‘He’s not used to being away from me overnight,’ he says in a worried voice.

‘Then it’ll be a good thing. It’s important when they’re growing to get them used to spending time away from home.’

He nods, glad to get any parenting advice from someone who is far, far better at it than him. ‘That would be amazing, hyung. Thank you.’

The day at work passes by quicker, after that. The thought of a day off, a real day off, fills him with buoyancy that will get him through the rest of the week with ease. He moves around the office at greater pace than usual, smiling to anyone who speaks to him, and he takes a lunch break, going to fetch hot food from the canteen that should keep him going throughout the rest of the day. The pale beige walls of the office adopt a brighter shade, like he’s put on tinted glasses.

By the time that he leaves, exactly on time, it is like someone has put fuel in his veins.

‘You’re in a good mood,’ smiles Keonhee when he pulls up in the parking lot. Seoho is drawing something on the tarmac in chalk, his creation as abstract as Hyuntae’s.

‘I feel good,’ nods Geonhak, ‘really good!’

‘That’s great!’ Keonhee beams.

‘My colleague is going to take care of Hyuntae one day this week, so I’m going to have a night to myself.’

‘This’ll be his first night away from home?’

‘Well he used to come to stay at mine sometimes, before. But the first time since… since, yeah.’

Keonhee nods. ‘He should be fine. Do they have kids?’

‘Two.’

‘Then he’ll definitely be fine. Hyuntae’s very sociable.’

‘I just wish he’d start talking to the other kids,’ mutters Geonhak, because if his godson wouldn’t speak to him, then that would at least be the next best thing.

‘He responds to things they say,’ says Keonhee, ‘even if it’s not with words. He follows instructions. Which means he understands. I know you’re so worried about this, but I take care of a _lot_ of kids, Geonhak, and every one of them is different. Most of them haven’t had experiences like Hyuntae. Given everything that has happened, I think he’s developing fine. He’s just taking things at his own pace.’

‘Seoho showed up, then?’ Geonhak nods over to where the two of them are drawing.

‘Late, yes,’ sighs Keonhee, ‘said he slept in. I need him to be on time. There are legal regulations about how many staff we need on the premises just to open up, for safety. I can’t have him being late.’

‘I’ll talk to him about it,’ says Geonhak as he starts his way over, smile breaking on his face as Hyuntae spots him and drops his pink chalk to run over. With every passing day, his movements are becoming more stable, like he’s thinking about where he puts his feet and the way he moves his arms. Geonhak throws open his arms and kisses him on the cheek. As usual, he lifts him all the way up before looking to Seoho. One day, Hyuntae will be too big to hold like this, so he’s determined to take advantage for as long as he can.

‘Good day at work?’ asks Seoho.

‘Yeah, it was.’

‘Good,’ he smiles. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here this morning. I overslept. I think Keonhee was mad.’

‘It’s okay,’ he shakes his head. ‘Look, do you want to give me your number? I can send you a text in the mornings, make sure you’re awake.’

‘Sure. That would be cool. Thanks, Geonhak.’

‘No problem. I want to make sure you keep this job.’

Seoho smiles. ‘I want to keep it too.’

~

Swapping numbers with Seoho proves to be a game-changer in more ways than one. Not only is there a daily morning exchange, but more than once, Seoho messages him in the evening too. When Hyuntae is in bed, after a long session of dinner (and a total refusal to interact with broccoli) and cartoons (which Geonhak became far too invested in), Geonhak lays back on the sofa and opens his phone to find a stream of messages about a new series. Seoho describes every character in detail, waxes lyrical about the interlinking plotlines, and ends his messages with prayer hands.

Geonhak’s eyes stray to his work, but then he rolls onto his side and switches the television back on at a low volume, flicking to the Netflix app.

 **Geonhak (19:30):** okay, I’m watching.

 **Seoho (19:31):** I want live reactions!

He pushes a pillow under his head and then sits back up. He’s still dressed in his work clothes. Tiptoeing to his bedroom, he glances in the mirror. This moment could be an excuse for an early night, but he really does want to talk to Seoho about the show. Instead, he unbuttons his shirt, stretching his sore back, and finds a hoodie and a pair of sweats that he usually reserves for the weekends. Even then, more often than not he has to get dressed, because he’s more than a little obsessed with finding enrichment activities for Hyuntae.

On Seoho’s request, he send a message at least every two or three minutes. Their texts look comical side by side, Seoho’s messages short and split into several small bubbles, flooded with emojis and gifs, while Geonhak’s are blockier, unembellished. Nonetheless, Seoho seems to understand the more quiet, reserved way in which he expresses his enthusiasm.

The show is a simple hospital drama, but it’s exactly what Geonhak needs. He falls into the characters’ stories with ease, finds himself obsessing over their relationships and the struggles that they introduce, and he messages Seoho to check that they like the same characters. When it’s confirmed that they do, he grins. A moment of inspiration spills over his mind and he sits up, frowning. He used to have a study, which has now become Hyuntae’s bedroom, but everything from his files is piled up in one corner of his room now.

What reminded him of it, he does not know, but he lifts the boxes down one by one, trying to keep as quiet as possible. He winces when one of them hits the ground with a thud, but he doesn’t hear any stirring. Deep inside one of the boxes (all of which are labelled with a list of their contents, a relic from a time when he was more organised) he picks out an envelope, marked in his mother’s handwriting: _old photos._ The bundle starts with some photos of Geonhak when he was a baby, and he pauses on them. Before now, he has never really looked, but suddenly he is interested, thumbing through until he finds two tiny pictures of himself at around Hyuntae’s age.

Having Hyuntae in his life has made him reflect on his own childhood more than ever before. Every day, he wracks his brain back to the choices that his parents made and the effect they had on him, the good ones, the bad ones. It’s a daily analysis.

He moves past the baby photos and finds the pictures from school, and that is when he smiles. There is a small photo, only two inches by three, of two boys in their grey uniform. Seoho is more recognisable, wearing the same smile as he does every day now, while Geonhak is looking down, unwilling to face the camera. Grinning, Geonhak takes a photo on his phone and sends the first picture to Seoho. As he flicks through the rest, he finds more and more of the two of them across different ages, and he sends them all too.

Seoho responds with a stream emojis, ranging from a complete cringe to a crying face.

 **Seoho (20:22):** do you remember when we went to the camp in the mountains?

Geonhak smiles, and taps out a yes. He does remember. He remembers wishing that summer would never end.

 **Geonhak (20:25):** you should come round some time. I have more photos that we can look through and we can watch the series together.

 **Seoho (20:26):** amazing! I’ll come tomorrow?

Geonhak shakes his head with a laugh.

 **Geonhak (20:28):** how about Friday? Hyuntae is staying with a friend.

 **Seoho (20:29):** it’s a date.

Geonhak stares at the words with a strange feeling in his navel, a little like he is floating and his insides aren’t sure what to make of it. There was a time, as a kid, when he would have dreamed of Seoho saying that. A part of him, at the back of his mind, had always thought that Seoho would be his first boyfriend. Then he’d moved away, when they were both still so young, and Geonhak had moved on from the trappings of a very first crush. They’re adults now. He has a son. Everything is different. He rubs his eyes and closes his phone.

There is still time to get some work done tonight.

~

By the time that Geonhak leaves Youngjo’s apartment, having dropped off Hyuntae for the night, he is so exhausted that all he can think about is sleep. It took nearly an hour to convince Hyuntae to stay, as he clung to Geonhak’s leg and cried and cried. Youngjo’s partner, Yonghoon, had eventually managed to distract him with one of their boy’s old train set, long enough for Geonhak to whisper his goodbyes and be hurried out into the corridor by Youngjo. His friend had promised that within an hour Hyuntae would be distracted, happy, would have forgotten all about going home.

Geonhak feels guilt creep up from his feet to his chest and all the way to the top of his head. It’s cold and has the eerie sensation of spider legs on his skin. Shivering, he pulls his jacket tighter around him and crosses to his car. Already, he wishes that he hadn’t invited Seoho over. He feels fatigued, the emotional cost of leaving Hyuntae behind far worse than the physical toll of the week at work.

The drive to the address that Seoho gave him is short, and takes him to a different part of town to his usual route. It is quiet, filled with bougie coffee shops that are just starting to pack up for the day, and a few small offices. The block where Seoho lives is one of the taller buildings. The façade is plain but well-kept, like it has been recently repainted. Geonhak taps the wheel and watches the main doors. He’s the one who is late, but Seoho hasn’t even come down the stairs yet. Picking up his phone, he checks whether Seoho has texted, but of course he has not.

Timekeeping is not his forte.

Geonhak climbs out of the car and paces the sidewalk for a minute. The autumn air is cool, but not as cool as the guilt still rippling through him. Leaving Hyuntae while he has to go to work is one thing, but leaving him so that he can have a night off for himself is a whole other. Geonhak feels selfish. He brushes back his hair with his hand and leans against the outer wall.

‘Geonhak!’

He turns around with relief when he sees Seoho bouncing towards him. He’s dressed down in jeans and a white tee beneath an oversized jacket. In one hand, he’s brandishing two bottles of soju.

Geonhak smiles, and for a moment his thoughts drift away. The anxiety nagging at the back of his brain is dulled. ‘I don’t remember saying that you should bring drinks,’ he says, but he’s still smiling.

‘Hey, this is a child-free night! Take advantage. I’m going to make you take advantage.’

Geonhak opens the car door for him and Seoho gives him an exaggerated bow of thanks as he slides into the passenger seat.

‘Let’s order pizza,’ supplies Seoho, before he has even started driving.

‘Actually, I was wondering if it would be okay if I cook?’

Seoho raises his eyebrows. ‘Cooking? On your day off?’

‘I survive more from take-outs and instant meals than I do cooked food,’ says Geonhak. ‘I usually cook for Hyuntae and then I never think to make anything for myself. He’s very picky about what he eats. I was hoping that I could have a grown-up meal tonight.’

‘Sure sure,’ he nods. ‘How does it feel? Knowing you have a night with no bedtime?’

‘Weird. I feel guilty for leaving him.’

Seoho frowns. ‘Guilty? This is supposed to be a night for you, Geonhak. If you never take time for yourself you’ll start to burn out. Then what good will you be for Hyuntae? If you have some sort of breakdown then you’ll be no use at all.’

‘I’m not going to have a breakdown, Seoho,’ he rolls his eyes.

‘You say that, but I see parents all the time! I see the pressure they’re under. When the cracks start to show, that’s when it affects the kid. You need to take care of yourself too. Think of the aeroplane oxygen policy. Put your own mask on first, because if you can’t breathe then you’re not going to be able to help anyone else at all.’

Geonhak turns to look at him in surprise. While they parted at age thirteen, Geonhak is still surprised that this is the most profound thing he’s ever heard from Seoho. ‘When did you get so smart?’

‘About fourteen or fifteen,’ he shrugs, then he grins.

‘Tell me more about high school. What was it like? You said that you made good friends?’

‘Yeah, I liked it. The school was pretty good and there were some teachers who really helped me pull up my grades. I missed you, though, for a long time. My parents thought I was so miserable that they even considered moving back to Seoul in case I sank into a depression. But I adapted. You’re malleable at that age, you know? When things happen you just sort of grow into new ones, just like you grow out of your old clothes.’

‘How about college?’

‘Fantastic. Loved it. I went to lots of parties and I got my first boyfriend.’

Geonhak glances at him, attention suddenly rapt. ‘First boyfriend?’ So Seoho dates guys. Geonhak wishes that he wouldn’t feel this spark of excitement in his chest. Seoho is his friend. He’s busy being a parent to Hyuntae. But the spark is there. It buzzes somewhere behind his heart and he’s sure he would be able to feel the skin vibrating if he were to touch it.

‘Mmhm. He was great while we were together but then he swanned off to study overseas for a year and I never heard from him again. Asshole. Anyway, what about you? Any lovers?’

 _Lovers_. Geonhak bites his lip. This isn’t the kind of conversation that he has had with someone for a very long time. Months. Every conversation that he’s had this _year_ has been related in some way to parenting, arranging childcare, discussing new releases of toys, comparing notes on development. Parenting or work. ‘A couple while I was at college too. I had a long-term girlfriend and then a short-term boyfriend. My parents have been on at me to settle down.’ The short-term boyfriend is fictitious, but he feels the need to slip into conversation that he would also date a guy. Just in case.

‘And what are you up to now? Apart from raising a kid?’

‘Nothing,’ he says honestly, ‘nothing at all.’

‘See this is what I’m saying, Geonhak,’ he groans. ‘You need to have a life!’

‘I’m a single parent, I’m not afforded such luxury as a life!’

Seoho slams his hand down on the dashboard. ‘Then you need to make time! Make an effort. Like tonight. Imagine if you did this once a week, dinner with a friend, watching a movie or something. That counts. Just doing something other than parenting. Please, Hakkie, promise me you’ll work on it.’

Geonhak sighs. His heart had jumped a little at the nickname, and even though he knows that Seoho can’t have heard it, he still feels embarrassed. ‘Fine. Yeah. I promise.’

On the walk up to Geonhak’s apartment, Seoho complains loudly about the lack of elevator and threatens to open one of the bottles of soju right there on the stairs. By the time that they reach Geonhak’s floor, he’s dragging his feet theatrically and Geonhak can’t help but feel endeared. He also hums to himself, unfamiliar songs that Geonhak imagines are on the radio but he rarely listens to the radio anymore. In the same way that television was replaced with children’s cartoons, music was long ago replaced by nursery rhymes in his life.

‘Nice place,’ remarks Seoho as he steps inside and spins around.

‘Be careful you don’t step on anything,’ says Geonhak quickly, and he scoops up some small toy dinosaurs before Seoho can embed one in his heel. ‘Hyuntae has a toy box but somehow my living room floor is still his preferred storage locale.’

‘These are cool,’ beams Seoho, taking a Triceratops in his hand and turning it over, ‘I would’ve loved these when I was a kid.’

‘I’m trying to keep him playing with real toys for as a long as I can. Everything is so virtual now. I don’t want to just stick him in front of my phone or my iPad, you know? I want to create a childhood for him like the one that we had.’

‘Like mountain camp? Come on, you told me you’d show me the photos!’

Geonhak smiles to himself as he leads Seoho over to the kitchen counter, where has laid out piles of the photographs that he found. Seoho snatches one from the top and examines the grainy photograph closely. The two of them are in hiking gear, surrounded by other kids, ready to start some sort of orienteering exercise.

‘God, I loved that camp,’ sighs Seoho. He pushes some of the photos aside and picks out another one. Taken on the street where they grew up, it shows Geonhak adjusting the chain on Seoho’s pushbike. It must have been a hot summer, because there is a glare from the sun covering half of the photo, and they’re both wearing caps and vests. The photo looks old, slightly torn at one corner. They’re young. ‘Look how old this is! I think my mom took it. I can’t remember.’

‘I think she did.’

Geonhak pulls down some of the ingredients for the meal that he has planned. It includes all of the things that Hyuntae will not eat, such as bean sprouts and mushrooms, a meal that he would never cook for the two of them. As he thinks of Hyuntae, though, his heart pangs and he rests his hand down on the counter to collect himself. He resists the urge to send a message to Youngjo right away asking whether Hyuntae is okay. Though he knows that his friend will phone him right away if there is a problem, he can’t shift the need to check in.

Seoho pauses his quest through the photos to open the first bottle of soju. ‘You got cups?’

‘Sure,’ says Geonhak, then he pauses. It has been such a long time since he has drunk soju that he tries three different cupboards before he finds the small patterned glasses at the back of a shelf. When the first drink hits the back of his throat, a buzz runs down his arms and he exhales. Whether it is psychological or not, he already feels more relaxed. As if he has noticed, Seoho immediately pours him another. ‘Don’t let me drink too much. I don’t want to be hungover once I have Hyuntae back tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Seoho nods, but Geonhak isn’t convinced. ‘God, I can’t wait to eat whatever you’re cooking me.’

‘Well, I’m mainly cooking it for me. I never get to eat real food. Everything I make has to be tolerable for a very picky child.’

‘Let me have this,’ Seoho holds a hand up. ‘I can’t remember the last time that a guy invited me home.’

As Geonhak clangs down a pan he pauses. Is Seoho flirting with him? He blinks, holding his eyes closed for a second, and shakes his head. He’s being daft. The tiredness from earlier has faded, and he becomes aware as he fills the pan with water that he isn’t conscious of the constant dull ache behind his eye anymore. Perhaps it is the distraction. ‘Dry spell?’ he asks quietly, because he knows that he can’t just leave the words to hang in the air between them.

‘A little. But you know, I’m sure the right person will wander into my life. _Damn_ , do you remember this?’ he holds up another photo, of the two of them at a water park.

‘How could I forget? I nearly drowned!’

Seoho makes a noise that sounds something like a _pfft_. ‘Come on, you were fine.’

‘They had to haul me out! I can’t believe my mother still got the photos developed.’

Snickering, Seoho drinks another cup of soju. ‘Come on, drink up.’

Maybe it’s because Seoho is used to working with children every day and has developed an authoritative voice, but Geonhak follows his instructions straight away. Another happy buzz radiates on his skin and he smiles to himself. He concentrates on cooking, not least because he wants to impress his old friend and prove that he is still capable of cooking for adults. As he cooks, Seoho starts opening the cupboards to pick out snacks.

‘Can I put some music on?’ he asks, munching on chips. Even in semi-silence, he’s already doing a kind of dance that involves skipping across the floor and spinning on the balls of his feet.

‘Yes. Please catch me up with everything that has come out in the last few months,’ pleads Geonhak.

Seoho flicks through a playlist. ‘You’ll like this, I’ve had it on loop.’

Seoho dances while Geonhak cooks. The whole time, Geonhak finds his eyes drifting to his phone on the counter, itching to message Youngjo, but he tries to push the need down again. Every time, though, it creeps back. When he can no longer stand it, he coughs, and asks, ‘Seoho? How many times would you say that it’s acceptable for me to message Youngjo asking whether Hyuntae is okay?’

‘Good question,’ Seoho swivels around and strikes a pose that is clearly intended to make him smile. ‘I’d say once but this is you that we’re talking about so let’s say twice. You can check in now, and then check in again before bedtime.’

With that validation, Geonhak lurches for his phone and leaves Seoho to stir the pot while he hammers out a message. Youngjo replies within less than a minute, promising that Hyuntae is happy, that he’s watching cartoons with the other two kids. Youngjo’s sons are a little older but Geonhak hopes that being around them will help Hyuntae, maybe even with his language.

‘All good?’ asks Seoho.

‘Yeah. He’s… happy. Without me.’ As he says it, he feels strangely empty.

‘That’s a good thing, Geonhak,’ Seoho reminds him, as if he can read his mind.

He shakes his head. ‘Yeah. Of course. It just feels weird. I’m not used to being away from him at this time.’

‘How much time did you spend with him before your friend passed away?’ asks Seoho. He speaks with such confidence, none of the hushed tones in which everyone else talks when they mention Jungmo.

‘I was a godparent,’ shrugs Geonhak. ‘That made me babysitter in chief, but I didn’t see him all the time. I’m glad that we spent enough time together that when I’m older I can tell him lots of stories about when he was a baby. And he knew me. The thought of him having to go and live with strangers if I hadn’t been able to adopt him… it makes me feel sick, Seoho.’

‘Of course. But that didn’t happen. Don’t torture yourself thinking about it.’

He nods. As he serves up the dinner, he’s almost knocked out by the scent of real cooking. It fills him with energy, like it has revitalised and nourished him before he has even taken a bite. Seoho, meanwhile, pours out the last of the small bottle of soju and carries the bowls over to the couch.

‘Shall I put on the TV?’ asks Geonhak.

‘Nah, let’s talk more.’

Geonhak gulps. Talking has never been his strongest area. Everyone at work knows him as the quiet type, the one who rarely speaks up during meetings and only offers his opinions if absolutely necessary. The shyness began at high school. In fact, when he thinks all the way back, it started not long after Seoho left. He wasn’t a chameleon like Seoho – still isn’t. Making friends became harder. ‘I wish Hyuntae would be the one talking more,’ he whispers, picking up glass noodles and sighing with relief when full flavour hits him.

‘You need to stop worrying about this, Geonhak!’

‘How can I stop worrying about my kid’s development?’

‘Give him _time_. At day-care this morning, I asked him to choose between all of these different pictures. I asked him some pretty complex questions. I asked him what he thinks would fly higher, between a helicopter and a plane, and he pointed to the plane. He understands everything. Maybe he’s just not sure what he wants to say yet.’

‘He could start with hello,’ whispers Geonhak.

‘Hello? Not likely. I’m telling you, some day soon he’s going to throw a massive tantrum because you turn off his cartoons or something, and then you’ll rue the day you begged for him to talk more,’ Seoho winks.

Geonhak, though, cannot find humour in the situation. ‘Sure. Maybe. I miss the sound of his voice. I remember when Jungmo came into work, so excited that he’d just said his first word.’

‘What did he say?’

‘ _Appa_ , what else?’ replies Geonhak. He drinks the last cup of his soju and concentrates back on his food.

They eat in silence for a minute before Seoho pipes up again. ‘So, do you have any gossip from the kids we went to school with? Do you know what any of them are up to now?’

Geonhak muses for a moment. ‘Do you remember Hyojoo? She lived down our road. She’s a singer now. She left our high school halfway through to go to an arts school instead, and I heard from my parents that she’s doing very well.’

‘No way?’ Seoho beams. ‘She was nice. Everyone was nice, I suppose. I miss being a kid. Things were so much easier, weren’t they?’

‘You won’t hear any arguments from me,’ nods Geonhak. He sets down his empty bowl and leans back until he can rest his head on the back cushion of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. ‘That was good. I’d forgotten how amazing food can taste.’

Seoho reaches over and squeezes his leg, at the fleshy point just above the knee. ‘See? It feels good doing something for yourself.’

‘I know,’ he sighs.

Seoho tucks his legs under his body as he shuffles across beside him and instead catches his face in his hands. Geonhak jumps at the touch, breath hitching somewhere around his chest, but Seoho just turns him to face him and looks straight into his eyes. ‘I mean it, Hakkie. It’s not selfish. It’s not wasted time. It’s time for you. Important time.’

Geonhak holds his gaze. Seoho’s eyes are filled with life, darkened by a little liner and it makes Geonhak feel dizzy to think that he put that on before coming to see him. The unfamiliar rush of the soju is in his blood now and he swallows, feeling very hot all of a sudden. They watch each other, as if both is waiting for the other to make a move. Seoho closes a hand on the front of his shirt and twists his fingers to hold him fast as he leans in and presses a kiss to his lips.

It all happens so fast that Geonhak doesn’t have a moment to think about it. His heart is knocked into next week before his mind catches up with what is happening right before him. For that singular moment he feels a rush of energy which wakes up every part of him that has been sleeping for months.

And then he turns his face away, covers his eyes with his hands while Seoho tries to ghost another kiss to his cheek.

‘Don’t,’ he whispers.

‘Why not?’ says Seoho.

‘Just…’ Geonhak squeezes his eyes shut. His heart pounds a heavy drum against his chest. ‘I can’t.’

 _Seoho_. Seoho has kissed him. Not long ago, Geonhak had almost forgotten him. He’d worked hard to forget him, through school, even through college when he’d thought wistfully about the old times with his best friend. There is something in a childhood friendship that can never be replaced, a special bond forged that can’t quite be matched in adulthood, a shared history. He kneads his forehead. The breath that manages to escape from his chest is low and shaky.

‘Come on, Hak,’ whispers Seoho.

‘I can’t, Seoho,’ he repeats. ‘I have a kid now.’

‘But this is time for you,’ he says softly.

Geonhak pulls away from him and stands, pacing his own living room like he’s back in the hospital waiting room. He recalls that day, trying to arrange desperately for someone to look after Hyuntae while the doctors worked to save his father’s life. That day, he lost a best friend for the second time. Now, with his first back in his life, he feels more dizzy than ever. And it has been a dizzy few months. ‘I can’t be thinking of anything else right now, not when Hyuntae is so young. He needs to be my priority. We’re only just getting on our feet.’

Seoho follows him and reaches for his hand. ‘I’m sorry. Forget I did it, Geonhak, I’m sorry.’

Geonhak exhales slowly. ‘Forget? Why on earth would I want to forget?’

‘I – I feel like I’ve just got my best friend back. I don’t want to mess it up,’ says Seoho, and he groans before burying his face in his hands. ‘God, this is what I do. I screw everything up. I take a job and then I get fired because I can’t show up on time. I get you back in my life and then I make it messy.’

‘First off, Keonhee isn’t going to fire you,’ says Geonhak in a shaky voice. ‘You just need to start waking up earlier. Secondly, this isn’t… it’s not a mess. It’s just that I can’t.’

‘But you want to? You would if you could?’

The food and soju suddenly feel very heavy in Geonhak’s stomach. He looks at Seoho, the peek of orange hair sticking out over his wearied hands as they push through it. ‘I – yes. Of course I would.’

‘You were the first person I ever had a crush on, Geonhak,’ says Seoho, and Geonhak’s diaphragm seems to flip. ‘Before I even knew what a crush was, I had one on you. When I left we were thirteen, I was just figuring out what it meant to really want someone and then you were gone from my life and I - ’

‘I know,’ whispers Geonhak. His poor heart thuds like a bird hitting the walls of its cage over and over and he longs to let it fly free. ‘I know. You were the first person that I ever had feelings for too.’

Seoho sits back down on the couch and runs his hands through his fluffy hair over and over. ‘I always felt like we were supposed to be those childhood best friends who shared their first kiss together and instead I left.’

Everything is making Geonhak feel dizzy. The rich food and drink, and the heat in the apartment, and most of all Seoho’s words. They crash around him. All of the feelings that he has kept pushed down inside him since the second he saw him at the day-care rise up in his chest. He feels very hot. And he doesn’t know what to say. For the first time in months, all thoughts of being a father have faded from his mind and he is fixated only on his own heart. It feels more fragile than ever.

‘And now you’re…’ Seoho gestures at him.

‘What?’

‘You’re gorgeous! You look like my dream man! My first crush when I was a kid is now my dream man and you walked back into my life and I was sure it was fate! But you’re not going to want me because it’s the wrong time.’

‘It’s not that I don’t want you,’ whispers Geonhak. ‘God knows it’s not that I don’t want you.’

‘Just bad timing.’

Geonhak sighs. ‘Am I really your dream man?’

At last, there is a flicker of an almost-smile on Seoho’s face. ‘Pretty much.’

‘Your dream man is an accountant?’

‘Well look, I was talking more about the handsome jaw, very kissable lips… but there’s nothing wrong with being an accountant.’

Geonhak laughs a soft laugh and sits back beside him on the couch. His shaking hands are just beginning to steady when he rests them down on his knees. ‘Thank you.’

Biting his lip, Seoho looks up and meets his eyes. ‘If you did let me into your life then I’d be really good. I could help you out with taking care of Hyuntae so you can have more time for yourself, I mean he already loves me. And I’d never ever be late for anything again.’

‘I know,’ says Geonhak, trying to make it clear in his voice that he’s being sincere, ‘but I’m not ready.’

Seoho nods but his expression is miserable. ‘Do you want me to go home?’

‘No, don’t be silly. Let’s… let’s watch something. And you brought a second bottle of soju.’

‘Good,’ mutters Seoho, ‘I really need a drink.’

~

As Geonhak walks up to the day-care, Hyuntae’s hand held tight in his own, his heart thuds with anticipation. He feels like an anxious teenager again, embarrassed that he might make a fool of himself. He and Seoho have not spoken since the morning when Geonhak dropped him home, and Hyuntae has been as a silent as ever, so he’s worried that when he tries to speak properly he’ll trip all over his words. Geunie the carrot is held tight to Hyuntae’s chest.

Geonhak wishes that he had his own comfort plush at this moment.

Outside the doors, he takes several deep breaths, before finally slipping inside. Hyuntae breaks away from him and runs forward on little legs straight to Hwanwoong, who beams and hauls him up onto his hip. ‘You’re happy this morning?’ he says, tweaking the end of Hyuntae’s nose and the boy giggles.

Geonhak glances around for Seoho but there is no sign of him. ‘He’s been radiant these last couple of days,’ says Geonhak, in slight disbelief. Over the weekend, it felt like Youngjo had returned a different child to him. ‘Which after the two weeks of crying before that, is a welcome change.’

Hwanwoong, small enough himself, shuffles Hyuntae on his hip to try to keep a hold of him. ‘Well, they’re prone to that at this age. Besides, he had a new adventure. I bet that he liked that. Did you like your sleepover?’ he asks Hyuntae, who watches him for a second before nodding. ‘I bet it was fun. Did you play games?’ Hyuntae nods again. ‘Will you teach me a new game?’ Another moment of hesitation, and then Hwanwoong beams as Hyuntae nods one more time.

‘Hwanwoong, do you know… where Seoho is?’ asks Geonhak awkwardly.

‘Late again,’ Hwanwoong rolls his eyes, ‘he’s lucky I’m here to cover for him.’

Geonhak sighs and pulls out his phone, ready to text him.

‘Say goodbye to uncle Hak, Taetae?’ says Hwanwoong, and he lifts up one of Hyuntae’s hands to encourage him to wave. As soon as the boy realises that Geonhak is leaving, though, his eyes threaten to fill with tears again.

‘I’ll be back to pick you up really soon,’ whispers Geonhak, ‘you’re going to be so busy playing with Hwanwoong that you won’t even notice I’m gone okay?’

Hyuntae waves, but his bottom lip is sticking out.

‘I love you,’ says Geonhak. He kisses his forehead and then turns away before the worst pain in his chest starts again.

Geonhak is already texting by the time that he makes it back out into the parking lot and the cool air hits his face. Though autumn is only just beginning to settle into its latter stages, the breeze feels like winter. Geonhak is grateful for the cold air. Hyuntae had him up early and the breeze at least makes him feel more awake. He has tapped out a message ready to send when he looks up just in time to avoid bumping headlong into Seoho.

‘Oh!’ Seoho gasps, looking up from his own phone.

Geonhak grabs him by the waist to stop both of them from toppling over. For a moment he holds him there, before he clears his throat. ‘Hey, I was just texting you. You’re late again.’

‘I know,’ groans Seoho. Then their eyes meet and it is like everything rushes back again. The silence of the weekend hangs between them. Seoho looks tired. There are greyish circles beneath his eyes and his roots are showing through somewhat darker than usual, like he hasn’t washed his hair. ‘I set my phone alarm but the battery died. Are you headed to work already?’

‘Yes,’ says Geonhak. He has to think doubly hard over every word that he says and he knows it means that things have changed between them. Everything used to flow easily with Seoho, even after so long apart. Now it all feels laboured. ‘I have so much work to do this week. My boss dropped me an email to say that she wants me to come to a meeting on Wednesday and I’m pretty sure that it’s to discuss a promotion. I’ve been hinting at it for months and I guess she can’t refuse to talk to me for much longer. It’s important that I have all of my work finished up to date in time for the meeting, otherwise that isn’t going to give a good impression.’

Seoho nods. ‘You really want this promotion?’

‘It could help a lot. You never realise how expensive having a kid is until you have to take care of two people on a salary that you used to survive on alone.’ He sighs and rubs his eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m oversharing again.’

‘Overshare away,’ shrugs Seoho. ‘I’m sure the meeting will go great.’

‘I still have to find someone to look after Hyuntae.’

‘Won’t he be here at day-care?’

Shaking his head, Geonhak glances over at the car, worried that they are both going to be even later to work. ‘I have to take him to the dentist in the morning. They always run an hour late so by the time we get away I’ll have missed my meeting already.’

‘I’ll take him!’ says Seoho, voice bold.

‘What?’

‘I’ll take him to the dentist. I’m not working Wednesday so it’s no big deal.’

‘Do you even drive?’

‘No, I’ll take him on the metro,’ he shrugs.

Geonhak’s forehead creases. ‘Hyuntae? On the metro?’

‘Why not? It’ll be an adventure for him. Come on, I take this route every day. I’ll just get off a couple of stops early to pick him up and then spin him by wherever you need him to be. Let me, Hak, it’s the least I can do.’

A sequence of images flashes in front of Geonhak’s vision. Hyuntae falling down the escalators at the station. Hyuntae tumbling over on the platform. Hyuntae getting squashed between the other travellers on the metro. Hyuntae losing Seoho’s hand in the crowd. Hyuntae running off down the street and Seoho losing sight of him. Even the shortest journey seems to be filled with hazards. ‘I don’t know, Seoho…’

Seoho’s face crumples slightly. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

‘Of course I trust you,’ he says quickly. ‘I just don’t… I’m not used to letting other people take Hyuntae around the city. Besides, it’s your day off. I don’t want to disturb you. I’m sure that I can figure something out with work.’

‘Shush!’ Seoho reaches out and presses his finger to Geonhak’s lips. The touch sends a light buzz of electricity through Geonhak’s body and he shivers. ‘Tell me what time. I’ll pick him up.’

A moment of consideration, and then Geonhak nods. His breathing is shaky but he knows that this is the right thing to do. If leaving Hyuntae with Youngjo for the night proved anything, it’s that he needs to get used to allowing other people to help out. He can’t keep Hyuntae held to his chest forever. That won’t help himself or his godson. ‘8:00,’ he says. He catches Seoho’s arm as he nods. ‘You can’t be late, Seoho.’

‘I won’t be.’

‘I mean it. I need you to show up. If he misses his appointment then I’m going to have to rearrange and - ’

‘I won’t be late, I swear.’

Geonhak holds the gaze of his oldest friend, and he knows that he would trust Seoho with his life. That matters, because Hyuntae is his life these days. ‘Okay,’ he whispers. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

‘No biggie,’ Seoho smiles.

Before he can turn into the day-care, Geonhak catches his wrist and slides his hand down to slip their fingers together for a second. ‘About what happened on Friday, Seoho, you don’t have to feel weird about it. I think we both know that if things were different, we’d… make different choices.’

‘I wish you’d let me prove to you that things would be good.’

Geonhak can’t fight it. He can’t fight the instinct that has always drawn him to Seoho. He can’t fight the way that his eyes trail down his face to his full lips and the pointed chin that he wants to hold between his forefinger and thumb, tilting his face up to kiss him. ‘Well let’s start with Wednesday,’ he says, swallowing. If Seoho is going to re-enter his life with this kind of intensity then he needs to be sure, certain that he’s a stable enough force to keep around Hyuntae.

‘And then?’

‘We’ll see,’ he says softly. He wishes that he could hold his face in his hands. He wishes, truly wishes, that Seoho would grab him to kiss him again. In the daylight, out in the open air, it would feel less like something that they could hide away.

Seoho touches his finger over the back of Geonhak’s hand before pulling away. ‘I have to get inside. I’m late, and I promised that I’d practice something _really_ important with Hyuntae today!’

‘Practice what?’ Geonhak calls after him.

‘It’s a secret!’ shouts Seoho, and he mimes zipping his lips. ‘Go and get your work done so you can score that promotion!’

Geonhak rests his hand on the roof of the car and sighs, ruing his own weakness. Seoho, it seems, is a subject on which he has no self-control. There has always been something about him, an addictive buoyancy, a positivity that is contagious, and a smile that cannot be refused no matter the consequences. Even when he opens the door and slides into the driving seat, he does not start up the engine for a minute. He closes his eyes, refocuses himself. There is a lot of work that he needs to get done tonight.

~

‘Taetae, I need you to brush your teeth!’ says Geonhak, chasing the boy around the apartment as he collects up his papers.

Hyuntae is still only half-dressed in bright blue dungarees but no socks, and his hair is stuck up in all directions because Geonhak has not been able to catch him to flatten it down yet. For once, the fact that his godson is smiling isn’t enough to make the morning feel any easier. The stress of his meeting is weighing down heavily on Geonhak’s shoulders, and thus far nothing has gone right.

The hot water did not work for his shower. His best work jacket has a crease down the front that no amount of last-minute pressing has been able to save. Hyuntae dropped his yoghurt and burst into tears for a whole thirty seconds before Geonhak distracted him with his carrot plush and the smile returned. Those flashes of emotion from childhood could replace his adult feelings in a second, Geonhak thinks. He’d love to cry for one minute before being the happiest man in the world a moment later all because of a plush toy or a cartoon.

He thinks that children, even children who have been through the very worst like Hyuntae, do not drag their feet on the past in the way that adults do.

‘Come on,’ he says, grabbing Hyuntae at last around the waist to haul him to the bathroom.

Hyuntae stands on a green frog-patterned stool while he brushes his teeth, and Geonhak holds him up so that he can check himself in the mirror, the way that he watches his uncle Geonhak doing every morning. They stand side by side. Geonhak smiles and ruffles the top of his hair.

‘You look smart.’

Hyuntae doesn’t say anything, but he tucks himself into Geonhak’s side.

Reading his body language, as he is so adept at now, Geonhak crouches down. ‘You’re a big, brave boy for going to the dentist without me. Seoho is going to look after you. I know for a fact that Seoho has a special superpower that means he will always protect you when you’re together, okay?’ As he says it, Geonhak glances at his watch. It is already 7:57, and there has been no sign of Seoho. He closes his eyes and breathes out, reminding himself that he isn’t late yet.

Hyuntae pads back out into the living room while Geonhak searches for socks for him. Every one that he finds lacks its partner, until he ends up grabbing one blue and one yellow, conceding that Hyuntae will simply have to be fashion-forward for the day. As Geonhak sits on the floor (groaning as his prematurely aging back protests) and slides on his shoes for him, he looks once again to his watch. 7:59. ‘Come on, Seoho,’ he mutters, ‘come on.’

There is a lot riding on this. More than Hyuntae’s dental appointment and Geonhak’s promotion. If Seoho doesn’t show up, then it means Geonhak cutting off a part of his heart that he won’t be able to repair. If Seoho is late, after he trusted him with this, after he _promised_ , then he isn’t sure what he can do. If Seoho can’t keep a promise that he made for the sake of his son then this ends now. Geonhak isn’t sure that his fragile heart can take it. After everything that had happened this year, he can’t lose Seoho again.

‘You all ready?’ he asks Hyuntae, who prods at Geunie.

Geonhak straightens up and collects the last of his papers to push into his bag. He has records of all of his accounts in case his boss wants to see them, as well as files containing most of his documents from the last few months. If he is going to prove his competency, then he needs to show that parenting doesn’t affect his organisation. Once upon a time, Geonhak was the most methodical person in the world. He needs to prove that he still can be.

His eyes are burning, though, from the late night.

The last of his accounts took more than three hours to drag back up to speed.

The clock ticks to 8:01 and Geonhak shakes his head. He rests one hand on the wall and whispers a silent plea for Seoho to walk through the door. He thinks about Hyuntae, waiting with Geunie tucked in his arms, and stands back up straight.

‘Come on then,’ he says softly, lowering his briefcase and instead taking Hyuntae’s hand. Like he always has.

They’re halfway to the door when the hammering knock begins.

It seems to knock right on Geonhak’s ribcage, or perhaps that’s just his heart. His hands shake as he lifts up Hyuntae by the waist to unlock the door, one of his favourite things to do. He thinks that it makes him feel important.

Seoho leans against the doorframe. His cheeks are bright pink and he blows out a puff of air that makes his hair drift up. ‘Forgot your elevator was broken down,’ he gasps. When he sees Hyuntae he beams, and the exhaustion disappears from his face. ‘Look what I have here…’

Relief is so hot on Geonhak’s skin that he almost has to sit down.

_Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

Seoho brings his hidden arm out from behind his body and waves a very large white plushie in the air. For a moment, Geonhak frowns, unable to figure out what it is. At first, it appears little more than a blob.

Hyuntae gasps and launches forward.

As he grabs the plush between his fingers, Geonhak manages to make out the shape at last.

It’s a tooth.

‘This,’ starts Seoho as he crouches down beside him, ‘is what you get when you go to the dentist without your uncle Hak for the first time!’

‘Is that a molar?’ Geonhak chokes on a laugh. ‘Where did you find this since yesterday?’

‘I have a dealer on speed-dial,’ shrugs Seoho with a wink.

Hyuntae, it seems, is overwhelmed. He squashes the tooth to his chest before grabbing for his carrot as well, holding them side by side.

‘Thank you,’ whispers Geonhak.

‘You are very welcome,’ Seoho smiles. ‘Was I late?’

Geonhak thinks about the one or two minutes and shakes his head. ‘Not at all. Right on time.’

‘Thank God,’ exhales Seoho. He takes Hyuntae’s hand (a challenge around the plush bundle). ‘Are you ready?’

Hyuntae nods.

‘Say bye to Hakkie?’ suggests Seoho.

A silence while Hyuntae bites his lip.

‘I’ll see you later. You can let yourself in once you get back from the dentist, Seoho. If I get this promotion then we can celebrate together,’ promises Geonhak. His heart is swelling. ‘Thank you.’

‘You don’t have to thank me,’ he rolls his eyes.

Geonhak crouches to kiss Hyuntae’s head. ‘I’ll see you later, Taetae. I love you.’

‘What do you say to Hakkie, Taetae?’ says Seoho.

Another moment of silence, then Hyuntae whispers, ‘luh you.’

Geonhak stares. It takes him a second to compute what has happened. It feels like a punch to his gut and a gentle embrace from a parent all at the same time. He glances up at Seoho, then looks back down. His words don’t come together. ‘I – thank you, Hyuntae,’ he says. His voice sounds empty but it’s only because the rest of his body is overflowing with love. He clears his throat and tries again. ‘I’ll see you in a few hours. I love you.’ He repeats it, hoping that Hyuntae will say it again.

Hyuntae though, has become distracted by his plush again. He prods at the squishy top of the tooth.

‘Told you we’ve been practicing,’ says Seoho in a smug voice.

Geonhak stands and throws his arms around him before he can stop himself. He almost crushes Seoho but he has no control over his body, leaning in to him. Seoho groans, but doesn’t try to escape. Instead he pats Geonhak’s back gently. Geonhak inhales the unfamiliar scent of Seoho’s body wash at his neck, something citrussy to match his bright hair, and he fights the urge to kiss him there and then. ‘How?’ he whispers, against his skin. His eyes sting.

‘What can I say, I’m a miracle worker. Big family, remember? I speak kids’ language.’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Let me get him to the dentist. You’re buying the soju. Even if you don’t get the promotion, you’d best bet I’m hanging around.’

Geonhak nods, breathless. ‘Yeah. Yes.’

All thoughts of the promotion have faded from his mind in a second.

~

‘I’m impressed, Geonhak.’

He bows and gulps, feeling somewhat like a child sent to see the principal. It’s rare that he’s called into Byulyi’s office. Though on occasion he has to face her wrath, as far as bosses go, she is very easy to get along with, even if at times she can snap if things are not delivered up to her standards. Though not emotional, the level of her professionalism is a relief to Geonhak. It was after what happened, when everyone else treated him like he was made at glass and he just wanted to be reminded that he was still a living, breathing human.

‘Thank you,’ he says.

‘The way that you’ve kept up with all of your accounts is excellent, despite your change in circumstances. You know that I’ve had my eye on you since you first started in the office, because I’ve always thought that there is potential for you to move up the ladder.’

He bows again in his seat, mouth dry.

Byulyi lowers his file and tilts her head to the side. ‘Are you beginning to find it easier?’

Geonhak nods. ‘I have a good friend helping me out. He took Hyuntae to the dentist today so that I could get everything ready for our meeting. And I think that Hyuntae is talking again.’

‘That’s good,’ she smiles. ‘The question is, Geonhak, do you feel ready to take on more work?’

He takes a steady breath. ‘Not more work,’ he says quietly. He has to pick the words out of his chest and they feel strained, but everything that Seoho has ever said to him rings in the back of his mind. He won’t give up more time. He won’t give up more time with Hyuntae _or_ time for himself, and very soon he is going to have to fit in time with Seoho as well. ‘I would really love to take on the accounting manager role, but I can’t dedicate more hours that I already do. I promise you that if you offer me the role, I will take the same care and attention over my responsibilities as I do now. But you know that I can’t stay here until nine o’clock every night.’

She surveys him over the desk. This office is the nicest room on the floor, with a low view of the shorter surrounding buildings. Her desk is sleek and black. Geonhak finds himself fighting the urge to tap his nails upon the surface just to hear how it sounds. ‘I’m grateful that you are being honest with me upfront,’ she says. ‘I trust that as a father now, you appreciate the full care and diligence that you must commit to all of the things that are important to you. I’d like to offer you the position.’

‘Really?’ he says, closing a shaky hand on his knee.

‘Really. You’ll learn to delegate. And besides, Hyuntae is like the nephew of this entire office. We all want the very best life for him.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Remember that you can ask for help, Geonhak? You can reach out to people. You don’t have to do this alone.’

Geonhak nods. ‘Absolutely.’ Youngjo has already offered to take Hyuntae one night a week, and with the added help of Seoho around he knows that he will be able to build a more stable foundation at last. ‘Thank you so much. I’d like to accept the position immediately. I promise that I’ll work my very hardest and you won’t regret giving me this chance. I can start today.’

She laughs. ‘There will be a transferral period for you to learn the ropes.’

‘Great!’ Everything feels great. He thinks about the pay-rise, and the expensive pre-school in the area where he might soon be able to send Hyuntae.

During the rest of the day at work, Geonhak can barely sit still in his seat. He feels like Hyuntae, ready to bounce around at any second. Youngjo laughs that he is almost vibrating. Torn between the desire to set up his new work files, and the desire to race home to see Seoho and Hyuntae, he finds himself alternating between working and texting Seoho. Seoho sends a picture of Hyuntae wearing a big sticker on his dungarees and eating a sugar-free lollipop from the dentist office. Then, Seoho sends a picture of himself with a lollipop too, and Geonhak rolls his eyes. It isn’t difficult to imagine Seoho pleading for a prize of his own.

On the way home, Geonhak stops by the convenience store to pick up a bottle of one of the more expensive sojus for Seoho. He pauses in the lobby of the block, raising his eyebrows as he realises that the _Out of Order_ sign has been removed from the elevator. Someone must have come to fix it during the day. Smiling to himself, Geonhak turns to the stairs and instead takes them two at a time back up to the apartment.

‘Surprise!’ shouts Seoho as soon as he lets himself in.

A sputter of confetti explodes into the air from an oversized party-popper and Geonhak almost falls back. ‘What the - ’

Hyuntae brandishes a cluster of balloons, the strings held tight in one pudgy fist.

‘Congratulations!’ beams Seoho.

Geonhak laughs and looks down, embarrassed by the attention. ‘Stop,’ he rolls his eyes and scoops up Hyuntae into a hug. ‘I can’t believe you did this.’

‘Taetae and I went to the shops together. Didn’t we, Hyuntae?’

The boy nods. He’s so responsive to Seoho. Perhaps it is because Seoho is as buoyant as a child. There is a certain shared language between them.

‘How was the dentist?’ asks Geonhak.

Hyuntae points to the sticker on his chest.

‘He was very brave. Much braver than me when I have to go,’ shudders Seoho. ‘But the dentist was amazed by his baby teeth. A perfect set.’

Proud, Hyuntae grins, showing them off.

‘Why don’t you show uncle Hak what we made while he was at work?’

Nodding, Hyuntae races to the kitchen.

Geonhak takes Seoho’s hand and interlinks their fingers. ‘Thank you. For everything.’ Before Seoho can say anything, he leans close and kisses his cheek. It is barely there, a brush of lips to Seoho’s warm skin, but he hopes that it tells him everything. Not only everything from the last week, but everything from the years that they have been apart and the years from before then. Seoho squeezes his hand and Geonhak resists the urge to touch that kiss down his jaw, instead pulling away and looking back down to the ground.

‘To be clear, this means we’re giving it a go?’ says Seoho, and for once he sounds nervous.

‘Yes. Yeah. We’ll take it slow.’

‘How slow?’ Seoho narrows his eyes. ‘Because give or take the decade in between, I’ve really known you for twenty years so I think that we shouldn’t have to go _that_ slow.’

‘ _Slow_ ,’ says Geonhak in a warning tone.

Seoho just makes a mimicking gesture with his hand as Hyuntae bounds back over to them. Balanced in his small hands is a tray of sugar cookies in irregular shapes. They are covered in pink icing, a somewhat abstract scrawl, but Geonhak crouches down and opens his mouth in a wide _o_ of excitement. Hyuntae shoves one of the cookies into his mouth before he can even speak and Geonhak splutters, laughing as crumbs spill down his chin.

‘Oh, lovely,’ grins Seoho.

Geonhak’s eyes water as he manages to choke down the cookie. ‘These are great,’ he says, gulping.

‘Congratulation cookies. To the newly promoted Kim Geonhak.’

Geonhak wipes his eyes and thinks that he’s lucky the choking fit has concealed the fact that his eyes were starting to water long before the cookie.

~

Things do move slowly, despite Seoho’s regular protests. To Geonhak, it’s less about being slow and more about being leisurely. There seems no need to rush things when moving at this measured pace brings a reassuring new stability to his life, such that he’d forgotten for a long time. At first, date night takes place once a week while Hyuntae stays with Youngjo, but after time they begin to take Hyuntae out with them when they go to lunch, and everywhere they go, people coo at what they perceive as a perfect young family.

Geonhak does not have the heart to tell them that things have never been perfect for this little family, that pain and separation have given them the strength that they have now.

‘What do you want for breakfast, Taetae?’ asks Geonhak on a wintery morning. Seoho is searching the apartment for Hyuntae’s warmest coat with the fluffy hood and inner-padding.

Hyuntae chews on his thumb. He has still been quiet these last few weeks, but not silent.

‘You can have blueberries or strawberries,’ supplies Geonhak, and he holds up the bowls in case Hyuntae wants to point.

‘Boo-berries,’ whispers Hyuntae after a moment.

Every time that Geonhak hears his voice, it still feels like the very first time. From what Seoho and Hwanwoong tell him, Hyuntae talks more at day-care with the other children. That is enough for him. If he is talking to anyone, then that is a start. Keonhee assures him that within months he’ll be back to communicating like all of the other kids his age. He said that children react differently to trauma. What matters to Geonhak is that Hyuntae opening up to talk again means that he’s healing.

‘Blueberries it is,’ smiles Geonhak.

‘I found your file, by the way,’ says Seoho as he walks back into the kitchen, holding up a slender blue file in one hand.

Geonhak swears a silly children’s swear and grabs it. Turning up to his new client meeting without it would’ve been a very bad first impression.

‘That reminds me, I should take off,’ says Geonhak. ‘Do you have the reservation booked?’

Youngjo and Yonghoon are babysitting for Hyuntae tonight. Seoho has promised Geonhak a very, very fancy meal.

‘Of course. Just don’t be late,’ Seoho winks.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Geonhak leans in and touches a kiss to Seoho’s lips. They allow themselves a second of that bliss before Hyuntae gets bored of his breakfast and starts tugging at Seoho’s sleeve for attention. ‘I’ll see you after work, then.’

‘Right on time,’ promises Seoho.

Geonhak squats down and pulls Hyuntae into a gentle hug. The boy throws his arms around his back, too small for his hands to meet at his shoulder blades, and then plants a kiss on Geonhak’s cheek. Geonhak smooths down his hair and wipes a little yoghurt from Hyuntae’s mouth with his thumb, before removing the extra blob that has now attached itself to his own cheek. ‘I love you,’ he says.

‘Luh you too,’ Hyuntae mumbles back.

Geonhak stands. ‘Love you,’ he says a second time.

‘Love you too,’ says Seoho.

As Geonhak collects his briefcase and his woollen coat, he looks back over his shoulder to see Seoho plonking Hyuntae down onto the counter while he makes his coffee. Hyuntae is giggling, loud and bright. It isn’t every day that Seoho spends the mornings here. When he does, they’re filled with an extra kind of light. Even in the middle of winter, he carries this sunshine with him that permits everyone around him to bask in his glow.

It’s not every day yet, but it could be.

Geonhak imagines waking up every morning with Seoho at his side. Sometimes, he imagines the two of them walking with Hyuntae together on the way to school, all three hand in hand.

In official terms, they are still taking it slow.

But it won’t be slow forever.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/hvanwoong)


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